


Far From Lost

by jazzfic



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 15:09:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2029734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzfic/pseuds/jazzfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Training for the Quarter Quell, they find themselves deep in the woods.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Far From Lost

We don’t mean to lose Haymitch so quickly. But by the time we notice the woods have closed in around us and we’re entirely alone. I don’t think I’ve spent so much energy since we faced Cato and the cornucopia, sticking as close to Katniss now as I did then, knowing if I don’t then I die. Or lose. In this case the stakes are a lot less final, but it’s still training for something one of us won’t come back from.

_That’s you_ , a voice reminds me. Not her. _She lives_.

“Oh. We lost Haymitch?”

Katniss’s look of surprise and confusion almost makes me laugh, despite the pain and the fact that I want those thoughts to go away, fast. I don’t want this reality. I look at her; the sunlight is thin but lighting a curtain around her face and the damp strands of hair that have come free from her braid. She’s so beautiful, barely touched by exhaustion. (And another voice joins the first: _be real, you’d think she was the freaking stars if she were covered in cinder and mud._

And yeah, I think. I would.)

I heave air into my lungs, trying to reach past the burning that’s still coursing through me. But the deepest breaths I can manage are still not enough to keep me upright. My leg – my dumb, useless leg – has me locked in a half-standing position where I can’t help thinking that the only way I’ll get some relief is to topple like one of the trees that surround us. “Looks like it—” I manage to get out, and then I really am falling. She lunges for me, kneeling, taking my weight until the pair of us land tangled and close in the dry carpet of leaves. We hiss apologies that get lost in one another. Her nose bumps my ear as my hands slip beneath her shirt, grazing her stomach. 

We scramble clumsily, trying to separate. It doesn’t work. I’m suddenly very glad that our mentor is not here, because as much as I live to make the sour, soaked guy laugh at my adolescent heartache, right now isn’t the time.

“Peeta…”

“I’m sorry,” I say, again. Katniss stares at me and her mouth twists into a not-quite smile. I’ve seen that look before. It doesn’t matter. I’m covering all bases here. I feel as if I need the words stamped on my forehead.

“No, you’re. Um. You’re sitting on my hand is all,” she says, biting her lip.

I cringe, rocking myself immediately to one side so she can slide out. I still feel too weak to move any further, so I lean back against the tree truck. I’m breathing normally, though awareness, her proximity, her eyes still gazing steadily at the side of my face, makes each breath sound ten times louder to my ears. I doubt she hears this, though. Like most things, it’s all inside me, imaginary. Eventually I must satisfy whatever concern she has about my physical well-being, because she looks away, drawing her knees up towards her. Our heads touch, just barely. I feel a remnant of the pent-up anger I had been stewing in over the weeks prior spin inside me, and I hold it like a breath, willing it to pierce a hole, however small, in my chest. I deserve to be marked in some way, I think. Permanently. I was miserable and every reason for that misery was pretty much as pathetic as pathetic gets.

I peer up at the sun. “He’s probably lost himself. Barking curses at us.”

Katniss sighs. “We should go back. I’ll bet he gave up and skulked off home to a bottle, but if he’s really lost, I can find him, no problem. Nothing that don’t belong in these trees stays hid for long.” I don’t say anything. I don’t want to move. My hand flaps hesitantly on my upper thigh. I wish I could reach across and find her like we used to in the dark. It’s cool in this shade, will only get colder still as the afternoon turns to dusk, and we’re sitting here shivering in our own sweat. Meant to be training with hardened eyes and courage and instead I’m twelve years old again hoping the pretty girl with the dark hair and ghost grey eyes will turn and look at me.

Sense wins over longing. “Okay,” I say. I ready myself, angling my prosthetic so I can shift my weight to the point where I have enough leverage against the tree to stand. Katniss hops upright easily, eyeing me again in that way that irritates me, but also makes me wonder if I could kiss her and not get booted halfway down a rabbit hole.

Before I can do anything the moment passes back into familiar awkwardness, but not before I realise too late that I’m staring and she’s got to know why, I’m sure of it. She’s much, much smarter than she’ll ever be innocent.

Maybe she senses something, though, gives in, because she ducks forward and takes my hand and stares pointedly to the trees. “Come on.” I see her nose wrinkle. It’s adorable, and I don’t even try this time to hide my smile. Her hand is warm. I squeeze it, see her lips tweak at the corners. “I can practically smell him from here.”

And we don’t let go, not for one step, the whole way back.


End file.
